


Night Orchid

by Eridanie



Category: Heroes (TV), Sukisho
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multiple Personalities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 08:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4618884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eridanie/pseuds/Eridanie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sylar was roused from a deep sleep. He could feel pressure and movement. He lifted his head, blinking into the dark expanse before him. A warm body was pressed against him, and soft fingertips were gracing across his bare limbs. He could see only shadowed movement. He groped into the dark as his eyes adjusted. His fingers brushed into soft damp curls, and he could see the reflection of large dark eyes. </p>
<p>"Mohinder?"</p>
<p>He heard a hiss in response. "No"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Orchid

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I would transfer over some of my old Heroes fanfic from Livejournal in 2008 over to my AO3 account in celebration of Heroes being a thing again. Plus I know people don't really use LJ anymore so I thought it would be nice if my fanfic was centralized in one place. 
> 
> Author: eridanie beta'ed by megmatthews20  
> wordcount: 2,825  
> Rating: PG13
> 
> Commentary: Basically I stole this entire concept and opening scene from an anime called Sukisho that I watched on youtube, but it's the Mylary version. I have no originality, I just leech of the genius of others, and recombine things for attention. But I hope you like it anyway.
> 
> Written for piping_hot's prompt table. Prompt. Plots mixed signals.

Sylar was roused from a deep sleep. He could feel pressure and movement. He lifted his head, blinking into the dark expanse before him. A warm body was pressed against him, and soft fingertips were grazing across his bare limbs. He could see only shadowed movement. He groped into the dark as his eyes adjusted. His fingers brushed through soft damp curls, and he could see the reflection of large dark eyes. 

"Mohinder?"

He heard a an angry growl in response. "No"

Mohinder pressed his soft lips to Sylar's, trying to pry coax his way into his mouth with a soft slick tongue. 

"Mohinder what the ....... mmmfff...... Stop! Why are you here?"

"I said he's not here!"

"Stop fucking around. Get off of me!"

Mohinder’s lips were now formed into an obvious pout. "I want to see Adrian. Call him out."

"What?"

"Please. I need to see him."

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

Mohinder's lips turned into a grimace of anger as he yelled at Sylar. "Just let him out! I need him!"

Sylar reached out to grab Mohinder’s wrists, to stop him from hitting his chest. 

He shook Mohinder, "Stop this. What's wrong with you?!"

Mohinder struggled against him uselessly for a moment, trying to escape Sylar’s grip, before finally giving up and crumpling onto his chest. He melted into sobs that left damp spots on Sylar’s T-shirt. Sylar wrapped his arms around Mohinder tightly pressing his lips into his curls, shushing him as his arms stroked up and down his back "Shushshussh... It's OK.” He whispered into his ear as his brow furrowed in bewilderment at these strange actions. 

He was scared. He'd never seen Mohinder like this... ever. Sylar had murdered his father, tricked him, betrayed him, left mutilated corpses for him to find, tortured him, fucked with his head, threatened to kill him, made him watch as his friends were tortured, family threatened, but he had never seen him so distraught, never seen him cry like this. It wasn't like him at all. If he couldn't see him with his own eyes he would have thought this was a stranger in his bed.

Sylar had heard Mohinder’s heart pound from fear, pain, and anger, but this nameless pattern was completely new. It sounded like despair, and a deep crushing need. He didn't understand what was happening, but one thing that seemed obvious was that Mohinder was not planning on killing him tonight, and Sylar wasn’t really in the mood for torturing, or demanding the list. He was tired. He just wanted to go back to sleep. He lowered his head back onto the pillow, the smaller man settling on top of him as Sylar pulled him close, Mohinder’s head pressed tightly to his chest. He could feel his breathing slowing steadily as he started drifting off, exhausted sobs quieting. He tried to get to sleep, but he kept worrying about Mohinder. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but if it was making him act like this, then it had to be really bad. He wasn't even sure why he cared.  
~~~  
Mohinder started to stir when he saw light through his eyelids and he felt the sun’s rays warming his face. He sighed, shuffling closer to a warm body. He could smell a sweet familiar scent of skin, and his cheek was pressed against a shoulder that was still moving with the breaths of its owner. He blinked his eyes open, staring at the back moving an inch from his face. Something wasn't right. Why was he sleeping with someone? Why was he in a bed? This wasn't even his bed! The last thing he remembered was working, which meant if he had fallen asleep he should have been waking to the sight of a very close keyboard; not white sheets and pajamas. He sat bolt upright. Gods! He didn't even recognize the room he was in. The man laying next to him shifted toward him softly, eyes blinking open. He seemed surprised for a moment to see Mohinder looking back at him.

Mohinder’s gut clenched in abject terror. His heart pounded in his chest wildly. It was Sylar! How could something this insane be happening? For an endless moment he just stared into Sylar’s eyes, his own eyes widening like a hunted deer’s. He scrambled off the bed, pressing his back into the wall.

"Whoa! Whoa. Take it easy. Every thing's Ok." Sylar said in a pacifying tone. 

"Sylar! What the hell have you done?"

"What have I done?" He snapped incredulously. "You're the one who just showed up here, uninvited."

"Don't be ridiculous! You expect me to believe that!? You're the one that kidnapped me!"

"Mohinder you're completely out of touch."

"Me? You're the psychopath!"

"I didn't kidnap you. You just showed up in my bed, and... well, essentially mauled me."

"Why would I do that? How would I even know where you were?"

"I could think of one incredibly easy way." 

Mohinder pressed his lips together tightly, lifting his head in defiance of Sylar's suggestion. "I would never use Molly that way."

“I would have thought not, but then I also would have thought that there was no way you would steal into my apartment in the night, and force your way into my bed."

"I did not do that."

" I understand you may not remember it, but you did do it."

"This is madness!"

"I agree."

Mohinder shot him a withering scowl and walked over to the window squinting up at the dim sun hidden behind early morning haze. "What time is it?" 

"Nine thirty-three."

"They're going to be wondering where I am."

"Yeah I suppose they will."

Mohinder huffed at this passive retort. He felt suspicious of Sylar's conspicuous lack of goals or ulterior motives for this interaction. For what possible reason could the killer want to bring him here to do... nothing? Mohinder looked back at him curiously as if he could gage his intent from body language.

"Do you want some breakfast? Tea?"

His tone was quiet, and he might have been fooled into thinking it genuine hospitality if not for the slightly mocking smirk on his lips. Every curve of his facial expression suggested that he was placating the insane, that nothing could be gained from arguing with him, and that infuriated him all the more.

Mohinder snorted incredulously. "No! I'm not staying!"

Sylar held his hands up peaceably at the vehement staccato of Mohinder's reply. "All right, I get it. I know you probably don't want to hear this from me, but last night you were pretty upset. You wouldn't let me call you Mohinder. You said "He's not here." I don't understand what's going on, but I can only assume there's some sort of psychological issue at work here."

"Me?! You're the one with issues! You’re a psychopath! I'm fine, so please just leave me alone!" Mohinder could feel his fingernails digging into his palms.

"I thought you said they would be worried. Shouldn't you go?" was Sylar's sarcastic and defensive retort.

"Yes. I need to get back to them right away," Mohinder glowered. He was expecting Sylar to stop him, but when it became obvious that he wasn't going to do anything. Mohinder searched for his shoes. He located them by the door, and pulled them both on.

"Here take a sweater."

Sylar was shoving a gray hooded sweatshirt toward him. Mohinder looked down at it.

"It'll be cold," Sylar added.

Mohinder grabbed it without thinking, and bolted out the door, shuffling his way down to the street. He looked at the sweater with distaste, realizing it was one of Sylar's own. Mohinder didn't want to put his clothes on. The idea was too unpleasant, but he hadn't been outside long before the chill began to get to him. He had apparently only worn a thin white t-shirt for this adventure, and he reluctantly donned the over-large hoody, ignoring the smell of Sylar that emanated from it. He finally got his bearings on where he was, realizing he was far across town from home. He sighed, signaling a cab. He couldn't wait to put this bizarre morning behind him.

 

~~~~~~~

Mohinder came storming through the front door. Matt jumped up and rushed toward him. His face was filled with concern.

"Where have you been?" Matt said softly, his features marked with concern.  
"Please, not right now. Could you go pay the cab for me?" Mohinder rushed out, agitated defensive. His tone a cold wall to seal in any emotion that may leak out. Matt could tell he was guarding his thoughts tightly.

"Cab?"

Mohinder continued to stalk silently to his bedroom, closing the door a little harder than was strictly necessary, and flinging himself onto the bed. He burrowed under the comforter until it was bunched around his shoulders and hooded over his curls, glowering into the stitching as he picked at it. He needed to think. This was too crazy. There was no way he had gone to Sylar in the middle of the night without even knowing where Sylar lived. It was just impossible. But he also couldn't imagine any reason why Sylar would do this to him. What possible reason could he have to kidnap Mohinder in the middle of the night, spoon him while he slept, and then let him go in the morning? Sylar may be sadistic, but he didn't do things without a reason, and Mohinder couldn't possibly fathom what that reason could be.

~~~~

Matt was shocked by the cab bill. Mohinder must have come from all the way across town to rack up one that big. 

"Where did you pick him up from?"

"Harlem." 

Matt frowned at this, lips pressed tightly into a white tense line as he handed the cabbie the cash. He didn't like the thought of Mohinder wandering around Harlem looking like he did. He couldn't understand what Mohinder had been doing.

When he got back into the apartment he hovered on the other side of the bedroom door, hoping to hear Mohinder’s thoughts without him knowing. That wasn't usually a line Matt crossed, but this whole situation was frustratingly cryptic, and he didn't really know if Mohinder was going to tell him anything. Mohinder’s thoughts were rushing fast and chaotic, half in English, half in Tamil, and partly interlaced with flashes of disturbing and confusing imagery. The tone was panic and the parts Matt could hear in English, didn't make any sense. *Why would he lie?* "I don't understand..." *Impossible...*

Matt was concerned, because that frenetic pacing and tone was usually only heard in people who had extreme anxiety. So he figured whatever Mohinder had been doing, it hadn't been a pleasant experience. And yet the sensory flashes he was picking up were of a familiar warm human scent, and warmth pressing against him, soft touches. It was all chaotic and hard to make sense of. It was all too confusing. Too much. He couldn't make any more sense of Mohinder's mind than he could his actions. So he sighed, reaching up to tap on the door before opening it to peer in. 

"Mohinder?"

"Yeah."

Matt ambled over to the bed lowering himself onto the edge.

"What's wrong?"

Mohinder continued to pick at a loose thread on his comforter, not willing to look up at Matt.

"If you were with someone, it's ok. I just want to help," He added willing as much understanding and concern as he could into his voice to temper the anger at this irrational behavior

"No, it's nothing. I don't really remember what I was doing, but I'm sure I'm just tired from working all night. It's nothing, really. I probably should be off to work."

 

God Mohinder was a terrible liar. This answer, though obviously false, amounted to saying, ‘I'm not going to tell you.’ So, Matt gave up, sighing and leaving Mohinder alone in the room.

"Well let me know if you do need any help, OK?"

"I will, thanks." 

~~~~

Sylar paced across his room. He couldn't understand Mohinder’s behavior. Why had he come here, and why did he appear not to have remembered any of it? It was beyond bizarre to have an enemy turn up in your bed, only to blame you the next morning. But the feel of Mohinder in his arms was disturbingly familiar, and welcome. Sylar tried to fight back the knowledge of just how good it had felt. Mohinder's scent still clung to his thin t-shirt where Mohinder had laid pressed against Sylar in the night. He breathed it in now, not wanting to admit to himself why he didn't want to take it off as he pulled a button-up shirt over it, leaving it on as an undershirt. 

He made up the bed, fingers lingering where Mohinder had slept, and wondered if he should abandon this location now that Mohinder knew where he was. He dismissed that thought. It was illogical. Obviously Mohinder, and the Company, could find him whenever they wanted. The issue keeping them away was that they had no way to subdue or contain him when they found him, and so they left him alone, pretending that not knowing where he was was the reason for their inaction. Mohinder coming here didn't change any of that. 

He remembered how jumpy and panicked Mohinder had been when he’d woken up. His heartbeat racing. It was a new feeling to find that fear ...unwelcome. Sylar was usually glad to see that he inspired fear, but it seemed to be that he grew more disturbed when people were afraid of him when he didn't want them to be. It could feel very lonely to never have human company that wasn't afraid.

Sylar could feel a presence pressing on him. He felt the fear, the danger of losing control of this body, relegated to a helpless bystander again as Gabriel made shambles of his life. This was not going to happen. Sylar was the one in control now, and nothing was going to change that. Gabriel knew not to try and force himself against a hopelessly strong wall. Sylar's weaker half had long since given up. So why was this presence so terrifyingly strong and persistent? Why did it take so much more of his control than it should to fight it off? 

The only possible answer was that it wasn't Gabriel at all, but someone else entirely.

~~~~~~~

Mohinder's day at work was smooth and uneventful. A far cry from the morning that had started out so horribly bizarre. No time travelers or serial killers dropped by his lab, leaving him free to work efficiently and without interruption. But the things Sylar had said were still bothering him, and he found himself more and more distracted by disturbing thoughts that were very hard to push out of his mind. He finally resolved to call it a day since he was not accomplishing much in this state. He needed to clear his head.

~~~~~~ 

When he got back home he returned to his place under the covers staring at the stitching. He had to get a hold of himself he didn’t know how long this could last. Him locking himself in his room brain shut up tight, with a mind reader around. It was going to be very obvious that something was up, but he didn’t know how to talk about something like this, It was too strange, and he had no explanation. Right now he just reveled in the freedom to mope and project loud unsatisfied thoughts as much as he wanted while Matt was at work. 

He got up to change his clothes shuffling through the armoire to find the sort of thing good for moping and considering and worrying. Something that made you feel good and pathetic, like an emotional charity case. He wanted the way too large but super soft sweatshirt emblazoned with the logo of a now obscure cricket team. He was rifling through, finding his way to what he wanted by feel when his fingers closed across something that decidedly shouldn't be there. A texture that didn't belong in his wardrobe. Leather. His fingers slipped across the smooth surface, catching around a sleeve as he pulled it out of the closet. It was a leather jacket. A black leather jacket in his exact size. He put it on, sliding it up over his shoulders, shuddering at the very thought of wearing cow skin. It made him sick to think of it. It was a complete mystery to him why something so distasteful should be in his closet. He slipped his hands into the pockets, searching for a sign of its source. One pocket held a pack of cloves and a shiny silver lighter; the other held condoms and lube. He ripped the jacket off, flinging it to the floor like it was covered with some infectious agent. He didn't want to know the sort of person owned this jacket, but it was most certainly not him.


End file.
